Eternal Flame
by L.A. Noire Lover
Summary: After surviving an attack and witnessing the murder of her mother, Whitley Reiner is determined to try and resume normalcy, but seeing strange creatures and meeting the Shadowhunter's prove that being normal is no longer possible. Can she survive an inevitable thrust into the Shadow World and the darkness that threatens to consume her? Slow Burn Jace/OFC. Update coming soon!


_AN: I don't own the Mortal Instruments. That privilege goes to Cassandra Clare. I do own Whitley and certain plot elements though. Cover is by Phatpuppyart. I'd like to point out that I haven't seen the movie and I'm not writing this fic because of it. This is based solely on the books. I've wanted to write this story for some time but I've only just now gotten a computer. This is the first fic I've ever posted on this site so I'm really nervous. __Whitley isn't going to get respect she hasn't earned, part of this means that character's that are closed off, aren't going to be her best friend all of a sudden because I think their cool and she won't be stealing anyone's lines, actions, or abilities and yes, Whitley have some abilities of her own. I'm trying really hard to write a character that won't be Mary Sue, so Whitley is not me and this is not a self- insert, her name and appearance are the products of a generator. The events in City of Bones begin during late December, not August, trust me it's for a good reason with all of the time jumping I'll be doing. This story will be 3 parts in one with each book being combined into its corresponding part. That being said any constructive reviews that you think will help me will be appreciated. Hope you enjoy!_

_EDITED_

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><p><strong>PART ONE: TREMBLING FLAME<strong>

"_**The mind covers the truth as the light covers the shadows."**_

Whitley bolted up, heart hammering as another nightmare came and went. Sweat clung to her brow as she threw off the thick cover that seemed to be suffocating her. She laid back down in bed for a while, trying to slow her panicked breathing. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table and sat back up, swinging her legs over the side of her bed and going to stand by her window. Looking outside in the morning was something of a pattern she'd formed in recent weeks. She fretted with the cool silver beads of the onyx pendant she wore as her left forefinger reached out to touch the pane and drew shapes idly on the ice-frosted glass. A winter wonderland gleamed at her as she stood there for a moment, eager to rid her mind of the dark memory that plagued her.

An idea came to her and she sat on the bed's rumpled blue comforter. Playing always helped her get over the feelings her dreams caused. Her hands slipped beneath the black wooden bed frame and found the thermoplastic material of the case that held her violin. She opened it, eyes taking in the 4/4 timber and she placed the stringed instrument on her shoulder, fitting her chin on the guard. She held the frog of the bow tightly in her hand as she sifted through the music library in her head and finally settled on a song with an Allegretto tempo. When the calming lilt surmounted and tranquil feeling replaced her anxiety, she recalled that she had an appointment to keep. She put the instrument back in place and gathered her things, walking into her bathroom and stepping in under the hot water. As it poured and dripped down her sides her fingers traced the raised skin of the scars rooted in her right forearm. Their bold, jagged, dark pink lines a stark contrast against her olive skin; she'd taken the bandages off some time ago. Tears came unbidden to her eyes and her heart wrenched with grief as a memory of screams and blood soared to the front of her mind. She bit back a sob and steeled herself, it wasn't time to open that wound yet. She brought her hand farther down to her wrist, remembering the silver band she'd grown accustomed to wearing wasn't there any longer.

She reached up to wipe her tears away and her eyes caught sight of the mark on the back of right hand. An outlandish symbol that bore the resemblance of an eye, another new oddity in her life. Whitley noticed it some weeks ago and couldn't help but wonder how she hadn't before. She dismissed it and all further thoughts when her mind finally into dullness and the droplets of steamy water calmed her; taking her mind of things. She dried off and walked back to her room, dressing herself in attire suitable for the cold weather outside. She entered the kitchen and grabbed a bowl from a nearby cabinet and filled it with milk and cereal. After lifting a nearby knife and slicing a banana into it, she sat down at the kitchen counter. Silence and the occasional clink of metal against glass her only companions as she ate. Out of habit her eyes flicked towards her father's study, silently hoping that he'd make an appearance and sighed in a disappointment, knowing that it was unlikely. Wet footprints created a path to his door, a signal that she'd just missed him. Mere glimpses of him was the only sort of "interaction" she had with him nowadays and she could only guess where he'd go in the middle of the night. One thing was clear to her though, there was no opening that door once it was closed. Ignoring the tightening sensation in her throat, she scooped up the last contents of her breakfast and headed out the door, dreading what was to come.

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><p>An hour later Whitley stood outside the building to her psychologist's office. The seventeen year old shuffled her feet nervously on one of the small patches of ice that coated the sidewalks as taxis flew past her on the recently plowed streets—their tires sped through the blackened snow sludge, sending unruly strands of dark hair into her eyes. Shoppers milled about around her, getting some of their last-minute errands done, hands laden with wrapped gifts and bags. Everything from the Christmas displays in the shop windows and the music playing from their stores to the chatter of everyone talking about their purchases went unnoticed by Whitley. Her breath rose in visible puffs on the late chilly morning air as she stared at the revolving glass doors, asking herself why she kept coming there. Shivering visibly from something other than the cold, images flew through her mind of strange creatures, abnormal beings that no one else could see. Worried about her sanity she'd convinced herself to make an appointment. It didn't help matters that this was one of a small number of times she had allowed herself to step outside her apartment in the past few weeks. She shook her head to dislodge thoughts of discomfort and strode through the doors determinedly, heading straight for the elevator in the lobby. She crammed herself gently between some disgruntled workers and pressed her floor number. Getting off at the telltale chime and walking towards where she knew the office to be, she was taken in by the soothing look the waiting area gave. She approached the receptionist manning the phones and tucked stray tress behind her ear. A small, strange chill passed through her body suddenly despite the warmth of the room as she waited for the woman to acknowledge her. A manicured finger motioned for her to wait and placed the phone back on the hook.<p>

"Name?" She asked curtly, opening the appointment book on her computer.

"Whitley." The woman sent her pointed look. "Reiner." She elaborated, frowning inwardly at the woman's rude behavior. It wasn't like she hadn't seen her before.

"He's with another client, sit over there." The woman gestured to the row of black leather chairs that sat against the beige walls. Whitley sat down and reached for one of the magazines on the square glass table in front of her to quell the urge to peek at her surroundings. A giggle reached her ears as she flipped through the thin pages and she looked at the only other waiting patient. A portly man who was staring ahead blankly and rocking back and forth slowly, the fluorescent lighting flaring off his balding head. She could discern the sound of muttering from where she sat a few seats down.

"_Their real. They say they aren't but I know they exist. I hear the laughter in my head, see the dark of their eyes."_

Laughter rang out again and this time Whitley noticed the tiny, pixie-like creatures that floated around him. They pulled and prodded at him, fluttering iridescent wings gleaming in the light. Sharp teeth flashed menacingly and black eyes glinting mischievously as they tittered. The man waved his hands about to swat them away but it proved to be useless as the aberrant creatures just recommenced their pestering with zest. He gave up and buried his face in his hands, soft sobs piercing the air as they tugged at his clothes and terror seized her. _Was that her future?_

_No, _she thought insistently, she was here to make sure it wasn't. She blinked harshly in hopes that it would dispel the horrible image but it didn't work, it never did. The sound of a door opening disrupted her thoughts of inner turmoil and she turned to see a woman emerge from her psychologists' office and shuddered internally as haunted eyes met hers. Whitley felt relieved when the woman's gaze finally went elsewhere.

A familiar voice greeted her, tone deliberately relaxing. "Mrs. Reiner." Her psychologist Dr. Hardeman stood there in the doorway smiling at her warmly. He swept his arm in the direction of the door. "Right on time as always." Whitley stood and entered his office, wondering how someone in his job profession could have such a cheerful countenance. Perspective, she supposed. Whatever the cause it certainly helped and the tight grip on her heart lessened. Perhaps that was his intention. His working space was in its normal messy state or organized chaos as he preferred to call it. She sat on old sofa, thankful the clichéd chaise lounge wasn't present. He took out his file on her and went behind his mahogany desk, planting himself in his office chair. He rolled around in it and stopped a couple of feet in front of her, then clicked his pen and placed it on his pad, his attentive eyes meeting hers. Whitley clutched her pendant tightly and closed her eyes, fighting the urge to flee the onslaught of questioning she knew was about to come. He gave her a moment as she breathed deeply to calm herself trying to disregard the anxiety inside her but with this being her first real session it wasn't going to be as simple as she wanted it to be. They hadn't been able to really delve into her reason for being there either. They had to get certain questions out of the way and see if they were comfortable with each other as protocol demanded. It hadn't been hard on her part seeing as his usual rate was thrice the amount of money she accumulated in a month and with her saving for college she didn't dare dip too much into her funds. He'd been nice enough to lower it for her after hearing her situation. _He's trying to help you._

"Ready?" He asked.

She exhaled and opened them, "Ready."

"The dreams…" He began. "Have they gotten any better?" He took note of the faint circles under her grey eyes.

"No."

"Worse?"

"No, it's the same every time. Never changing."

"Your mother's murder."

"Yes."

"Why do you think that is?"

"I…" She wriggled in her seat in discomfort as she voiced her thoughts. "I can't help but think I should've died with her."

"And why is that?" He knew they walked a thin line. That particular thought process was very dangerous. Best to tread carefully.

"I think I'm being punished for surviving." Whitley lifted her sleeve a little as she spoke, thumb reaching out to caress her scars, knowing that the conclusion she had reached was absurd but what other explanation could there possibly be? According to the nurse of the hospital she'd woken up in, she shouldn't have been able to survive the attack, apparently there'd been too much poison in her blood. Despite their best efforts they hadn't expected her to make it past the night, when she did they'd called her a medical miracle. Her deduction was certainly better than the alternative, the fact that she might be going crazy wasn't a comforting one.

"Punished?" He echoed surprised. "Why do you think that?"

Whitley grew hesitant. For some reason she felt as if she shouldn't tell him, maybe because she didn't want him to send her to insane asylum, where she'd spend the rest of her life in a strait jacket with nothing but the padded walls of her room to keep her company. Editing the experiences were an option but she doubted she would get the help she needed if she did.

"I'm seeing things." She finally whispered, watching as he straightened in his chair.

"What kind of things?"

"I don't know…" She murmured uncertainly, struggling to describe the things she had seen. She decided to depict the things from the waiting area. "Pixies …fairies I think. They have wings." Her brows furrowed slightly in fright as she continued, "No one else can see them, at least I don't they can." Immediately her thoughts went to that poor man in the lobby, was he seeing the _exact _same things she was?

"You say this began the night of her murder?" He pressed his pen to his mouth in thought and looked at her uncertainly. "I need to know if you're at risk for PTSD… but in order to do that I need to know what could've started all this. Do you think you'll be able tell me what happened that night?"

Again indecision swept through her. Going back through the events of that night, that week really wouldn't be easy, certain parts of it were still a mystery to her. The strange mark that had appeared on her hand overnight and that beast that had killed her mother. It couldn't have possibly been real…could it? No, he'd been human only seconds before she must have imagined the creature in her in distress. The police had chalked it up as some strange robbery gone wrong and Whitley would do the same. "I don't think I can." She swallowed past the lump in her throat.

"OK, understandable. Are you up for some other questions?" He asked writing something down on his pad, wanting to divert her from her stricken state. At her nod he continued, "Have you had a period of a week or more during your life when you have felt unusually good or high? Was this clearly different from your usual mood, so much so that your relatives and friends noticed the change?" And so began another litany of inquires that helped distract Whitley from any of the thoughts of distress. For now at least.

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><p>It was one o' clock on the dot when she returned to the townhouse. She was immersed in a feeling of security as she slammed the door shut, a somewhat contented sigh leaving her as heat entered her cold limbs. She slipped off her coat and tugged off her boots, rolling her neck to ease the tension in it that resulted from refusing to look at anything but her feet as she traveled back home. Another small sigh left her as she righted herself and headed to her room, trying to think of whatever she could to avoid the impulse to sleep. Her eyes flitted a path from the fantasy movie posters pinned on her dark teal walls to the bookcases pushed against them, filled to brim with dozens of worn out novels. Whitley placed her coat and boots by the door and walked over to it. She ran the pads of her fingers over their thick spines, remembering staying up late night after night, always telling herself that the page she was currently reading would be her last, only to read 50 more just as dawn would start to trickle through her window.<p>

Sadly, her love for reading had waned in recent weeks, so that was one distraction that wouldn't work anymore. She sat at her desk and pulled the economics textbook out of her book bag. Maybe studying would diminish the longing to close her eyes. Whitley opened a zipper on the front of her bag and took out her music player, recalling the argument she had with her mother when she'd wanted a cellphone before acquiescing to her suggested compromise. She put in the ear buds and opened her school book, pushing any thoughts of her mother out of her mind, eyes scanning the pages of the lesson plan one of her teacher's had emailed her. She'd almost made to the end of it but her drowsiness could no longer be ignored. The black text started to blur and sleep overtook her.

She awoke to a particularly loud song blasting through her ears and shot up, snatching her earphones out, her mind struggling to escape a groggy post nightmare haze. She didn't bother to assess the dream as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and groaned at the insistent pounding that had commenced in her head. She opened the top drawer of her dresser and reached for the aspirin she kept close at hand. She swallowed the pills dry and grimaced at the taste, trudging to the fridge for something to wash out the bitter aftertaste. She grabbed a juice bottle and sipped it, eyes automatically going to the adjoining living room. Signs of her mother Geneva's work as an astronomer and her love for stars could be seen here and there. Numerous photos of constellations, star charts and celestial bodies hung on the violet walls— or meadow flower the sales clerk had called it— and a glass case filled with the old bronze astronomy equipment was pushed against the far wall. Her father Mathias' own book collection lay inside the built-in bookcase next to the fireplace, his first published novel proudly showcased in front of it. A beep sounded through the quiet apartment, halting her observation and Whitley noticed the blinking red numbers of the answering machine on the counter and pressed play, figuring it was someone else offering their condolences.

"Whitley its Perrin, I just want to say again how sorry I am for your loss. I know that I'm about to ask a lot considering… recent events but do you think you can come in today? I'm understaffed, and were in the weeds. Call me if you're interested." The voice of her boss Perrin Jones said just as the message ended with a beep and Whitley felt indecision prod away at her. She wanted to say yes but fear of the unknown gnawed at her. What mythical creature would she see this time? Ghosts? Vampires? Werewolves? Could she handle going somewhere other than the psychologist's office and back? Or trust herself to differentiate fantasy from reality? She also had to consider the fact that Perrin wasn't the kind that to ask you for anything unless the situation was dire and with Christmas coming in a few days, she couldn't think of a better time to try a resume her life and reconnect with her friends. She hadn't really talked to or seen them much in the past few weeks, not since her mother's burial. Java Jones was a good place to start, since they hung out there most of the time and she remembered what Dr. Hardeman had said at the end of their session. _Enjoy the good things in your life, focus on the future._ With a quick glance at the clock revealing it to be 4 Whitley came to a decision and headed out, pointedly ignoring any concerns that lingered in the back of her mind, intent on forgetting her troubles for a while.

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><p>Java Jones was as the name suggested a café. When she'd moved here a year and a half ago and began her search of a job in order to start saving up, she'd found one here just in time for her junior year. She recalled the overwhelming training; weeks of having numbers and "repeatable routines" drilled into her head. The distinct numbers for pumps of syrups for hot and cold drinks and don't get her started on different numbers of espresso shots in different drinks, numbers of scoops of this, that and the other. One of the first things she'd learned the hard way is that barista's had to be fast, with things like shots of espresso only staying good for ten seconds, she had to swift in mixing them with some sort of liquid before those seconds were up or her shots would "die." It had been ages before what at first had been something she thought she'd never remember, would become second nature to her. Upon entering Whitley wasn't surprised to see how crowded it was, people always needed their caffeine. She bit her lip nervously as she looked at the line of them that almost went out the door. The holiday season was always extra grueling, especially if you ran out supplies but what concerned her the most were the patrons; she knew all too well how rude customers could be. Doing things like ignoring you when you say "hello," talk on the phone as you get their order, blame you for things you have no control over and ask for drinks that are incredibly complicated. The shifts she spent cooking back in the kitchen had been a valuable reprieve. All possibilities considered it was safe to say it would be a good diversion and she saw none of those creatures either.<p>

Though it had only been a scant few weeks since she'd set foot inside, Whitley took a moment to look around. Like one would expect the smell of coffee was strong but undertones of hot chocolate wafted to her nose, a sign the equally sweet drink was being served as well. Dark brown curtains that were usually closed to give off a warm atmosphere were open, letting the bright lights of the city cast a bright glow on the interior. Waiters were gliding between the booths and tables pressed against the wooden paneled walls on their respective sides, hot dishes placed carefully on their hands and arms. Monet prints and contemporary artwork sat high on the walls above, creating something beautiful in their dissimilarity. Farther back she could see the stage and the threadbare couches and armchairs that surrounded it. Since tonight was poetry night the lights were on and set low, a sign that someone would be performing later. As Whitley wondered who she spotted a familiar head of greying hair through the thick mass of customers. She walked behind the glass-fronted counter, taking an apron off the hook closest to her and joined Perrin and the other barista, who both sent tense smiles her way in thanks as they tried to placate impatient customers. After a while they dispersed, either going right back outside or settling down to relax in idle chit chat and use the free Wi-Fi that Perrin offered during the holidays. When Whitley had asked why he'd do such a thing he said something about it being good for business. It did the trick, the café was packed for a Monday afternoon. A bemused look came to her face when she noticed one of the patrons had actually brought their entire desktop.

Perrin approached her after serving the last customer in line. "Thanks for coming in Whitley."

"No problem Perrin." The man was like a grandfather to her of course she wouldn't say no.

"So… how are you?" He asked hesitantly eyes looking over her worriedly.

She wanted to say she was fine, she _needed _to be fine. "I'm dealing."

The older man nodded in understanding and reached out to squeeze her shoulder. "I'm here if you want to talk." He went back to work and Whitley leaned back against the counter for moment, taking in the familiar sounds and smells of the café. She checked in with the other barista, Garret and headed towards the back of the house to change out of her street clothes. The saccharine scent of freshly baked pastries and cream cakes drifted from the kitchen to her nose as she reached her employee locker and retrieved the name tag and the uniform she kept there, changing into them before walking back to the front of the café. A small smile curled her lips as she noticed her friends had arrived, occupying their normal area in the back. The first one she noticed was Luca, with her shock of light and dark blue hair enhancing her pale skin and blue eyes, looking every bit the part of an ice queen, only a select few knew how nice she really was. Like Zack, her boyfriend since seventh grade, with his dark brown hair and eyes who looked absolutely smitten as he stared at the girl in his lap. Quentin, Luca's twin brother looked stoned, bleary green eyes staring happily at nothing, not even caring that sister was intentionally messing up his perfectly styled platinum blond hair. And last but not least was Cipriana, who was perched on the arm of the couch as she read the manga in her lap, hand reaching up to touch the violet forehead protector wrapped around her light brown curls. Whitley's smile grew a bit bigger when the girls eyes flickered every so often towards Quentin. On instinct she started towards them, before glancing at the counter, remembering that she was in fact still working, Perrin who had noticed her predicament simply inclined his head, stating she had ten minutes. She smiled at him gratefully and rushed towards them, content with how ordinary her life seemed at that moment.

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><p>Around nine the regular crowd shuffled out, replaced with a teenagers enjoying the new found freedom their winter break provided. The adults that had swarmed the dining area earlier went elsewhere as soon as the teens had started to appear, the servers along with them. Chairs were stacked on their tables signaling that the café would be closing as soon as poetry night was over. Whitley's stomach churned as her gaze darted outside, eyes scanning the darkness that lurked there. She raised her hand to stroke her pendant and calmed herself, pushing down the uneasiness inside her. She worried her lip as she continued her task, twisting one of the knobs on the espresso machine to use the steam wand on some milk. She poured it into the mug clutched tightly in her hand, mixing it with the thick chocolate already inside. She put a dollop of whipped cream on top and stuck a candy cane in it, turning to the waiting female customer.<p>

"Merry Christmas." Whitley handed her the mug, hoping her hand didn't shake as she did. The girl took it and headed towards one the free seats near the stage as Whitley's eyes wandered outside once more. Perhaps Perrin would let her go home early? A sudden drumming sound had her flinching and her eyes snapped to the stage where Eric Hillchurch and Matt Charlton were "performing". The two of them were really into it. At least Eric was, Matt much like Quentin looked stoned —they'd definitely been hanging out together— as he beat irregularly on his djembe. Eric had yet to actually start reciting his poem, as all he was doing was sway back and forth but that was probably for the best. To her right the café door opened and Whitley recognized the bespectacled form of Simon and his friend Clary. They were debating whether or not to stay, a wise decision in itself. The duo must have agreed to because Simon made his way towards her as Clary begrudgingly walked to a couch in the back.

"Hi Simon." She said greeting the younger boy.

"Hi Whitley. Two black coffees."

She grabbed the last two mugs from atop one of the nearby coffee machines, filling them with the caffeinated beverage before turning back to the cash register and punching his order in. "That'll be 4.65." He gave he said amount and thanked her, heading over to where Clary was. Whitley deposited the cash in her register and looked at the deserted area in front of her, it didn't look like any more customers would be appearing for a while and she was alone since Garret had gone out back for his break. She shifted her feet as the well-known ache of standing on them for 5 hours straight began to flare up and walked over to the sink to wash off the syrup that was sticking to her hands. She looked at the door again when the bell overhead it jingled softly and a blond boy her age stepped through.

Normally, she wouldn't have paid much attention to him—it wasn't like attractive guys were rare—but something about him struck her as strange. He wasn't bundled up like the other teens for one thing, only a single layer of unusual dark clothes adorning his lithe frame. His forearms were bare, covered in faint white lines, scars they appeared to be and her stomach lurched again as she imagined the turbulent things he'd done to get them. He stopped in front of the doorway, bright eyes assessing the back of the crowded room. A smirk came to his face when he found what he was looking for. When she processed the fact that his eyes were gold she blinked and angled her head, believing them to be a trick of the light but they were in fact gold. She dismissed them as contacts as he finally moved forward before he stopped suddenly, startled gaze snapping to hers and instantly she looked away. Mortification flooding through her when she realized how long she'd been staring at him. The last thing she needed right now was to look like some sort of ditzy girl that was fawning over him. He looked like the type of guy that would be used to that kind of blatant gawking if that cocky smile of his was any indication. She glanced at him again when she noticed that he was still staring at her. He'd gotten over his surprise, his fair brows now furrowed in scrutinization as his eyes zeroed in on the mark on the back of her right hand and ran over the rest her form, her sleeve covered arms mostly. He was searching for something, but for what? His eyes met her's again and he seemed to be waiting for her to make the first move for some peculiar reason and she did just that. Whitley discharged her cash drawer, intent on going in back to balance it, her eyes meeting his once more as she left. She stopped midway once the smell of clove cigarettes assaulted her nose, set down the till and walked towards the alleyway on the side of the building. Ignoring the rapid thump of her heart, she opened the cracked door further and cautiously poked her head out. She knew all too well how dangerous dark areas could be. The light above gave her extra illumination to see, easing her worry somewhat as her eyes scoured the area and came upon Garret leaning against the graffitied wall across from her, the tiny orange blaze that emitted from his cigarette casting a small glow on his face. Thick, sweet smoke billowed her way and she coughed, waving it away.

"Those things will kill you." She bent down and propped the door open with a stray brick, wiping the muck from it on her jeans.

"I know." The boy shrugged not caring at all. But Whitley did, Garret was a sweet kid and a good co-worker at that impressionable age of fifteen, she didn't want him going doing the wrong thing. Not to mention she knew what would happen as a result. Those graphic videos she had to watch in countless health classes were seared into her memory forever.

"Can I get a drag?" Surprised, he extended the cigarette towards her cautiously and she took it, nearly bringing the roll up to her lips before throwing it to the damp asphalt beneath them, stomping it out with her black tennis shoe. "If you want to smoke wait until your old enough." She said over his exclaim of indignation. He shoved past her inside, Whitley's quick hands snatching the visible pack out of his back pocket. As she stared at it wondering where a boy his age had gotten them, a shiver passed through her and her eyes swept across the shadowed crevice again. Ever since her mother's death a strange presence had entered her life. As if someone was watching her from a distance, with a gaze like ice on her skin. A dark shape shifted out of the corner of her eye and her heart leapt in fear as a thousand possibilities swam through her mind; each one of them worse than the last. She let out an audible sound of relief as a meow echoed throughout the dark pathway when stray cat bounded past her and out of sight. Her relief was premature as she looked down at the gloom that appeared to be rapidly surrounding her. Panicked, she threw the pack away and dashed back to the café, slamming the door shut behind her.

A loud screech sounded in the distance and she cringed at the sudden sound, nearly sending her heart into overdrive. "Sorry about that, guys!" Eric yelled. "All right. I'm Eric and this is my homeboy Matt on the drums. My first poem is called 'Untitled.'"

Whitley pressed a hand to her forehead in agitation at how paranoid she was acting and picked up her cash drawer. The sooner she got home the better she would feel. She walked briskly into an empty room and closed the door when Eric began to wail about his nefarious loins and started counting; her math skills enabling her to finish the task quickly. She put the money, receipts and cash drawer check out sheet in an envelope and gave it to Perrin, doing her best to explain why she needed to leave. When he said that he understood she went back towards the locker room and changed out of her uniform. She walked to the front of the house, saying goodbye to her friends where they sat near the stage, the four of them nearly keeling over in laughter. Cipriana joined her and Whitley felt comforted by her presence as they headed outside. Voices to her left had her looking over to see Clary and the blond boy from earlier talking. She turned away, not thinking much of it and went over to the curb, raising a gloved hand to hail a cab.

Just as one slowed down to pick them up Cipriana took hold of her sleeve and whispered to her "That girl's talking to herself."

Whitley followed her line of vision to where Clary was. "She's not talking to herself there's a guy with her." She said slowly to Cipriana, sincerely hoping that the girl just needed to get her eyes checked. It hadn't occurred to her that no one else could see him. "He's right there." She pointed towards him with a slight tremor in her voice. Was he one of those creatures she kept seeing these past few weeks? The beings that haunted her dreams?

"Unless he's dark and his name is shadow, I don't see who you're talking about." Cipriana's concern began to show clearly on her face. "Are you okay Whit?"

The girl barely heard her over the sound of her heart beating in ears. Clary was talking to him, that would make him real wouldn't it, then why couldn't Cipriana see him? A consoling hand on her on her back yanked her out of her confused thoughts and her eyes met Cipriana's worried ones and Whitley realized just how bad she was shaking. Cipriana guided her into the waiting taxi and began trying to comfort the trembling girl as they drove off into the night. Was this truly the beginning of her descent into madness?

* * *

><p><em>AN: Whew! I finally wrote the first chapter in a way that I was happy with, you don't know how many times I changed the contents of it. So, how was it? Is it as bad as I think? I know there are inconsistencies present and hope to fix those in the future. Anyway, whether you loved it or hated it thank you for reading! If you did like it, hopefully the next chapter will be better. See you next time!<em>


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